Page 50 of Sterling Fight

Has any man ever said that to me? He not only wants to learn my coffee order, he wants to learn how to make it himself.

Don’t swoon. I rejected him yesterday. I cannot play wishy-washy. Less than ten days now. That’s all we have.

I step up to the counter and make my morning drink. Judd watches with meticulous attention. When I finish, I take sip to measure my perfection.

“Ah,” I groan, and Judd’s bright eyes dilate.

He clears his throat. “Dress comfortable. Shorts. Gym shoes. Whatever.” Then his gaze roams down my body. “Is that my shirt?”

Busted. I’m wearing his Sylver Seed & Soil tee I found in a basket in his laundry room.

“How much time do I have?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen?” I gape, needing at least twenty to shower and shave all the important bits. Dry my hair. Do my makeup.

Judd sets the coffee carafe back in the machine and glances at me. “You look beautiful.”

“I’m wearing your T-shirt,” I remind him, tugging at the hem that ends just above my knees.

“Like I said. Beautiful.” Judd continues to stare at me, while lifting one of the travel mugs like he’s going to take a sip.

That pause does me in, like he’s contemplating something. Like when he stalled and considered being my friend when I was eight. Only now, he looks like he’s considering things that are very much adult and very inappropriate, and I want to know more.

What do you wish for, Judd?

Pulling up in front of a single-story house I don’t recognize is not where I expected Judd to take us. He was exceptionally quiet on the ride here and he appears nervous as he pops open the driver’s side door and exits his pickup.

I’m about to exit the truck when Judd meets me on the passenger side and holds out his hand.

“The people inside this house are important to me.” He isn’t warning me to behave, he’s simply making a statement. Like meeting his family, I want to make a good impression, for Judd.

He knocks on the fiberglass doorframe on the screen door and a beautiful woman answers. With ebony-colored skin and soulful gray eyes, her smile is wide and exposes a set of perfectly white teeth when she sees Judd.

“Hey Trudy,” Judd greets her. “This is Genie Webster. My fiancée.”

Trudy’s eyes widen as she glances from Judd to me. “Well, my, my, my. Sounds like you have some explaining to do, Judd Sylver.” Her tone is friendly and playful as she reaches out for him and hugs him.

She holds out a hand for me next and covers the top of our hands as we shake. “Trudy Wallace. And it’s a pleasure to meet you girl.”

My mind is reeling, wondering what the connection between this woman and Judd could be, when a boy around nine, ten, eleven—I’m terrible with guesstimating ages—saunters up to Judd and hugs his waist.

“What’s up, little man?” Judd greets him and the two bump fists. “Heard you weren’t feeling well today?”

Trudy chuckles and runs her hand over the thin boy’s dark brown hair that flops over his forehead like Judd’s does. “I think he has a case of summeritis, as in wishing it was here.” She winks at me over the boy’s head. “I told him just this one time.” The warning is clear in her voice. She’s letting him play hooky today only.

“I really appreciate this, Judd,” Trudy states, glancing at him.

“Any time. You know that.”

I have so many questions, but I smile back at Trudy and then glance down at big blue eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses that are watching me. The resemblance to Judd is almost uncanny, and a bit unnerving.

“Simon.” Judd speaks directly to the boy as he squats to his level. “This is my fiancée, Genie.”

“Fiancée?” Simon chokes, eyeing me before staring wide-eyed at Judd. “You getting’ hitched?”

“Someday.” Judd glances at me before looking back at Simon. “I thought she could hang out with us today.”